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<title>Where's the worth in waiting by luxuries</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27670793">Where's the worth in waiting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxuries/pseuds/luxuries'>luxuries</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Comfort, Fluff without Plot, Idiots in Love, M/M, Quarantine got me feeling a certain way huh, Romantic Fluff, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Touch-Starved, Wingfic, Wings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:15:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27670793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxuries/pseuds/luxuries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew is given a moment, a minute, to truly see Neil.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Where's the worth in waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andrew waits for the shake of Neil's head, the unspoken yes that they have grown so used to over the months. The man suddenly aches to touch him, the feathers that look lighter than air, red dipped tips with a bloody Rorschach like pattern splaying over the mass of white feathers. They quiver under Andrew's sharp, caring gaze. <em>Safe</em>. Neil reminds himself. He lets his head rest against the blonde's shoulder, lightly taking in his familiar smell. Cigarette smoke, blue cotton candy and forgiveness. Neil's eyes glow gold with feeling, wavering when he shifts his gaze. Like the ocean's waves, drifting in and out in a calm manner. If Neil were to look at the ceiling right now, the golden flecks would be broadcasted like a scattering of suns, going through a thousand cycles of day and night in this singular moment. Spinning letters and sentences in a nearly unreadable pattern for all to see. </p>
<p>Sometimes, when Andrew focuses real hard, he can see the white words scrolling around his pupil. Glowing bright enough to hurt if you looked long enough. Neil often looks away when he notices Andrew's gaze, ashamed for reasons not yet known to him. The habit to avert his eyesight sticks with him, even when Neil wears contacts. It was a shame, his eyes were so striking.</p>
<p>He doesn't understand latin, but Kevin translated for him after guffawing at his mispronunciation; Flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo. Roughly meaning, after a few offended mutters from Kevin about Andrew's over dramatic accent,  'If I cannot deflect the will of heaven, then I shall move hell.' Kevin questioned him briefly, misunderstanding his necessity to know for an actual interest in the language. </p>
<p>Andrew has cursed the pompous gods and their need for only the lavish, only the most antique. Modernizing is too much a task, clearly. He couldn't fault Neil for this, obviously. It wasn't his choice to be their personal messenger. Kevin would combust if he ever found out Neil's well kept secret. The number 2 had been growing more and more curious to Andrew's constant demands, to the phrases he's translated ('Graviora manent', 'Aeternum vale' and even the well known 'memento mori') to why Andrew was asking in the first place. He'd never shown any interest in the dead language before.</p>
<p>"What are you thinking?" Neil questions in a tone that was meant to be uncaring but instead sounded uneasy. Andrew hums lightly, trailing one finger across the top of the wing closest to him. </p>
<p>"Do you ever wash them?" </p>
<p>"Yes." Neil sounds mildly offended. His wings were a touchy subject. Andrew wants to explain his curiosity, wants to tell Neil that he wants to help look after them. How the wings looked fine. How they looked perfect. But it's too honest- so Andrew stays quiet.</p>
<p>"How?" The wingspan wasn't anything to scoff at, no doubt being an issue in the bathroom.</p>
<p>"There's a lake I go to, it's in the Ether. Maybe someday I can take you there." Andrew gives an interested 'Hm' and continues his inspection. </p>
<p>"Can you turn around? I want to see the back." Andrew asks, removing his hands and tapping Neil on his chest.</p>
<p>"It isn't pretty."</p>
<p>Andrew doesn't respond, doesn't know what to say. Neil shuffles to turn around, sitting cross-legged in front of him. It's so vulnerable, so easy to take advantage. Andrew should know- and he hates the knowing. </p>
<p>"Can I touch?"</p>
<p>Sitting statue still, Neil gives him a nod of consent.</p>
<p>Andrew looks down and finds scarred flesh criss crossing over his back like half thought out 'x's. He feels the unfamiliar tang of fury on his tongue, and he swallows deeply to get rid of the taste. He had to stay neutral. For Neil. It's what he agreed to, after all. Neil would show him his natural form and Andrew won't be allowed to say anything of it. Almost a self-conscious demand, the fear of being rejected obvious in his shaky voice.</p>
<p>There's a red circle around the start of both of his wings, a nearly healed burn wound upon further inspection. A ligature mark, as if someone tied a rope around the base to keep them stuck together. He traces it, feeling the newly healed skin and Neil's tensed muscles. "What's wrong?" Andrew asks, removing his hands immediately.</p>
<p>"Nothing I- No one's touched me there before. I mean, besides my- you know." Neil doesn't look at Andrew while he talks, looking straight at the bland wall like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Andrew can't quite read him. </p>
<p>"Do you want me to stop?" Andrew gently waits for his response, leaning back onto his shins. </p>
<p>"No, no," Neil waves his right hand around nonchalantly. "Don't stop." Andrew unfurls at the clear request for touch. Happy to oblige, he continues his inspection. Touches every individual feather as if they all differ, strokes the tendons gently as he inspects every scar, every wound that had salt rubbed into it- every bleeding gaping cut that didn't heal quite right. It wasn't pretty, Neil was right. But Andrew only became more and more enamored with every slight shift of Neil's legs, every soft gasp that escaped the wounded boy. How his wings tittered and fluttered when Andrew massaged the joints. A separate entity to Neil, a more truthful part of him. One he chooses to hide, even when it hurts like hell keeping them restrained. This man will be the death of him.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry." Andrew says. He doesn't elaborate for what, and Neil doesn't ask.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is the softest thing i've ever written. didn't know i was capable of writing fluff lmao it really is quarantine huh?<br/>title is from the song where's the worth by maria kelly. ITS SO GOOD AND SO FITITNG TO THEM !!!! <br/>this is actually from a way longer piece but 👉👈 i'm not fully happy with it so i'll just post lil snippets i guess.<br/>feedback always appreciated!!!!!!! !!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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